


A Little Wicked

by superstringtheory



Series: hungry heart [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Courtroom AU, Courtroom Drama, F/M, Feeding Kink, Flirting, Grinding, Lawyers, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Weight Gain, very very slight mention of Cheryl/Toni
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 12:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13387725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: The lawyers AU no one asked for.Betty is the new assistant district attorney for Riverdale County. She doesn't know anyone in town, but the new public defender quickly catches her eye...





	A Little Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I'm a lawyer. However, I work in academia and don't practice so this story's setting is all a product of my limited experience watching a few episodes of Law & Order and the two whole times I went to court during my summer internship in law school. Therefore, please forgive any grave transgressions of legal practice and norms!

“Goddamn it.” Betty surveys herself in the spotted courthouse bathroom mirror again, angrily straightening the bow on her blouse. 

 

Every time, that snarky new assistant state public defender has to come in with his suspenders and his little potbelly and his meticulously crafted arguments. And every time, Betty falls for it-- and the jury does, too. 

 

Her boss is not going to be pleased about this-- this is the second time this week, and with Betty only a year out of law school, this isn’t exactly a great start to her prosecutorial career. 

 

Maybe she shouldn’t have taken this job in this weirdly segregated Midwestern town in the middle of nowhere. She tightens her ponytail and thinks about how Veronica, her best friend from law school, keeps texting her about how  _ amazing _ New York City is, and how Betty should leave the podunk town behind and just move to the city. This sounds nice and all, but Betty knows that the corporate law firm life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and so the only time Veronica’s seeing Central Park or the MoMA are in postcards or screensavers. 

 

Betty would much rather be here, working for justice. At least she can go outside sometimes, take a walk and even grab a coffee at the old-fashioned diner down the street. She considers-- maybe she’ll do that tonight, once she finishes a little more paperwork. 

 

Yeah. She’ll do the paperwork, and then go to Pop’s, and forget all about the new public defender- the way his dark hair always looks bed-rumpled, and his suits look just a little too small. 

 

***

 

There’s no such luck. As she ducks into Pop’s, a bell tinkling merrily over her head, at first she thinks she has the diner all to herself. Then Pop himself comes by to hand her a laminated menu. 

 

“Looks like it’ll be a legal crowd tonight,” Pop says, and Betty’s confused… until she spots someone lounging in a booth in the back corner. Someone sitting sideways in the booth with his back propped up against the wall, chewing on a yellow highlighter. 

 

Betty sighs lightly and takes the menu. She chooses her own booth, just one down from the new public defender, who-- aside from his funky socks and his suspenders-- also possesses the strangest nickname she’s ever heard.

 

“Jughead Jones,” he’d said to her on his first day in the courtroom. “New assistant state public defender for Riverdale County.” 

 

“Jug… head?” She’d repeated slowly, certain she’d misheard. “Is that… ah, short for something?” 

 

He’d winced a little. “My real name is worse, I promise.” 

 

Betty had laughed out loud in her office when she’d gone through a brief the next day and found it: “FORSYTHE PENDLETON JONES III”. She supposed she’d probably go by pretty much anything else too. 

 

She’d found his business card in her mailbox later that week, too, and it’d made her think, “Hmm.” 

 

But now all she’s thinking about is that he’s ruined her thinking spot, her safe place to go and not think about work. 

 

At the moment, though, he seems engrossed in reading through a thick case file, highlighting and taking notes, as well as working on what looks like a double cheeseburger and fries and a large chocolate milkshake. 

 

Not that Betty’s noticing. 

 

She orders herself a coffee and a muffin when Pop wanders over, and after he brings it, loses herself in her own notes and reading-- as long as her mind is already on work, she may as well.

 

That is, until someone slides into the booth across from her, plunking down a half-empty milkshake glass on the table. 

 

“ADA Cooper,” the someone says. 

 

She thinks for a moment. His eyes are daring, his eyebrow quirked just a little under that absolutely ridiculous beanie hat that seems to live on his head whenever he’s not in court. 

 

“Betty,” she says. “You should call me Betty.” Not ‘can.’ Not ‘may.’ ‘ _ Should. _ ’ 

 

***

 

It turns out Betty and Jughead have a lot more in common than Betty would’ve thought. They both went to state law schools on a scholarship, both were Law Review editors, both didn’t plan to end up here. 

 

Jughead orders a second milkshake midway through their conversation, and Betty can’t help herself. 

 

“Are you sure?” she asks, and it’s not because she’s judging. It’s because she wants to know that he eats like this because he likes it. She wants to hear that affirmation. 

 

Jughead blushes a little. “I started eating like shit during the bar exam,” he explains. “You can tell, huh?” 

 

Betty feels her own blush creep up her neck and she looks down at the table. “No, not at all,” she says too late, and luckily, Jughead laughs. 

 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve always liked eating. And I don’t really have a lot of time to cook nowadays.” He leans forward, his lips closing around the milkshake straw again and Betty has to shake her head a little to clear it. 

 

“Do you come here a lot?” Again, the words tumble out of her mouth before she can do anything about it. 

 

Jughead looks sly. “Why do you ask?” He sucks at the straw again, and the second milkshake is almost empty. 

 

A beat of silence. “No reason,” Betty says, unconvincingly. “You just seem pretty familiar with the menu.” 

 

Jughead catches her gaze, holds it. “You could say that,” he says. “You could definitely say that.” 

 

“What’s your favorite?” Betty asks, before she can lose the nerve. “The milkshakes?” she continues, when Jughead doesn’t reply, just keeps looking at her. 

 

“Not the milkshakes,” he says, letting out a long breath, his hand briefly moving down to rub at his side a little. “Although I do love them.” He grins, and Betty realizes that she likes him, genuinely- he’s funny and self-deprecating, whip-smart but sweetly rounded at all his edges. “No,” Jughead continues. “I think the pie is my favorite.” 

 

“Which kind?” Betty jumps in without time to take a breath. 

 

Jughead considers, and smiles softly, as if at a remembered taste. “Chocolate mousse,” he says. 

 

***

 

Betty excuses herself to the restroom, pausing briefly to whisper into Pop’s ear. When she returns, the waitress promptly brings over a small plate with a piece of chocolate mousse pie on it, which she sets in the middle of the table. 

 

A sly grin spreads across Jughead’s face and he looks impressed. “ADA Coop-- Betty. You  _ are _ a little wicked, aren’t you?” 

 

“Eat up,” Betty says in reply, giving the plate a little push towards his side of the booth. “It’s your favorite, isn’t it?” 

 

Jughead looks less sly by the time the slice is finished, and more sleepy. 

 

_ Glutted _ , Betty’s mind says helpfully, and she bites the inside of her lip. 

 

“All done?” she asks. 

 

Jughead drags the tines around the plate before setting his fork down, breathing out hard. 

 

“I’m glad you don’t seem to mind a guy making a pig out of himself on the first date,” Jughead says, looking at her unflinchingly. 

 

“Was this a date?” Betty laughs because she’s not sure what else to do. Jughead’s fingers find hers on the tabletop, and she lets him take her hand.  

 

“Wasn’t it?” 

 

Betty has to get up before she does something-- dangerous. 

 

“I’ll see you in court, Jughead.” 

 

Jughead gives her a wink. “That you will.” 

 

So that’s their first date, and after their next day at work together, Betty worries it might be their last. 

 

*** 

 

“Your honor, I think the prosecution could certainly see room for some leniency in this case.” Betty bites her lip and rereads her notes to avoid looking at Jughead, who is as passionate arguing for a minor felony as he’d be in a murder case, she’s sure of it. Not that either of them have had the opportunity to work on such a high-profile case in their relatively short tenures in Riverdale County. 

 

Judge Lodge looks mildly bored, and nods his head for Jughead to continue. It only takes another minute for Jughead to finish his closing argument, and then the judge goes to his chambers to deliberate. 

 

Betty sneaks a look at Jughead across the aisle of the courtroom. He’s frowning down at his phone, expression getting darker the longer he looks. When he finally looks up, he meets her eye for a brief moment but doesn’t smile. 

 

Okay, so maybe Betty read things wrong last night? Maybe he wasn’t actually hitting on her. But he talked about how it was their first date and how he made a pig of himself… and god, Betty  _ really _ can’t think about that right now. 

 

Her own phone buzzes in the pocket of her briefcase, and Betty bends down to check it. It’s her boss. 

 

_ We’ve got a big case coming in. Be ready to stay late tonight.  _

 

… Now Betty thinks she might know what Jughead’s upset about. A big case for her… likely also means a big case for him. Her thoughts are interrupted by Judge Lodge re-entering the courtroom, though, and then she doesn’t have time to think about Jughead again until much later. 

 

*** 

 

The details don’t sound that bad, in black and white. Betty can separate herself from them like she’s still an editor at the Ohio State Law Journal and she’s reading a law review article through for Bluebooking errors. 

Female music teacher, age thirty-five. Sequential affairs with five male students (underage). One of the student’s parents found out and are pressing rape and sexual assault charges. That’s one thing, as their son is a senior, seventeen-going-on-eighteen. But the other parents pressing charges have a sophomore, young for his class- barely fifteen now and only fourteen when he’d been in Miss Grundy’s class last year. 

 

Jesus. Betty sighs. This only makes her case better… and Jughead’s worse. 

 

*** 

 

She gets home late-- too late to even do more than halfheartedly plunk some leftovers into the microwave and decide on dry shampoo in the morning over a shower tonight. Her grumpy middle-aged cat is already curled in a comma in the middle of the bed, and he mews indignantly when she strokes his head. 

 

“Sorry, Hot Dog,” Betty tells him softly, continuing to stroke as he stretches, still radiating mild annoyance. “I’m sure you’d like your supper, too.” He perks up at the word ‘supper’ and hops down from the bed, and Betty follows him into the kitchen, where she measures his food out into his dish and then sits at her kitchen table and watches him crunch away. 

 

She’s rinsing her dishes out in the sink when her phone buzzes. 

 

**Unknown Number:** _ sorry for messaging you like this, but I just wanted you to know I had a great time last night. You helped me remember what it’s like to connect with another person. _

 

Betty blinks at her phone. 

 

**Unknown Number:** _ this is Jughead Jones, by the way. Soon to be former assistant PD of Riverdale County, after this case. Jesus. _

 

So he’s eloquent even through text. Of course. 

 

**Betty Cooper:** _It’s okay. I had a great time, too. And I know, the details are pretty insane._

 

**Jughead Jones:** _ Sorry, I’m not trying to get information from your side or anything- it was just a good excuse to talk to you.  _

 

**Betty Cooper:** _…_

 

**Betty Cooper:** _No excuse needed, Jughead._

 

Betty lingers over sending this next text. She feels too old for emojis in this instance, or like she doesn’t want to cheapen the moment, but then second-guesses that decision when Jughead types for a long time and no message comes through. Her finger is lingering over the emoji keyboard-- what to send, what to send? Winky face? Smile? Smile with blushing cheeks? How are two young professionals even supposed to convey attraction anymore?-- when Jughead’s next message appears.

 

**Jughead Jones:** _…_

 

**Jughead Jones:** _So, about that second date?_

 

***

 

Jughead chooses an Italian restaurant two towns over for their official second date. He seems nervous, anxiously chewing bread and much as Betty loves to watch it, she puts her hand on his wrist and squeezes when he reaches for the fifth slice in the basket. 

 

“Jughead,” she says. “It’s okay. You can relax. No one’s out to get us. Besides, there are towns where defense lawyers and district attorneys are married to each other.” 

 

Betty smiles, and Jughead catches her gaze for a beat too long, and she flushes. 

 

“What I’m saying,” she starts again, re-folding her napkin into her lap, “Is that it’s not a big deal for us to be seen together or anything. Nobody thinks we’re exchanging inside information.” 

 

Jughead decisively plucks his fifth slice of bread out of the basket and butters it generously. 

 

“I know that,” he says, talking with his mouth full in a way that should be rude but isn’t. “I just--” he swallows, then cursorily pats his mouth with his napkin. “I just want to do this the right way. You know?” 

 

“I do.” Betty’s saved from any deeper conversation on the topic by their waiter, who rattles off specials in a bored tone and then takes their orders. Betty orders shrimp linguine and carefully smooths her napkin over her lap as Jughead orders baked ziti and a side of deep fried ravioli. 

 

“Anything else?” The waiter looks ready to move on, but Betty says it before she can stop herself. 

 

“... And we’ll need more bread before the main course, thanks.” 

 

*** 

 

There’s a pause after the waiter leaves and Betty smiles nervously at Jughead. For a moment, she’s unsure, but then he smiles at her. 

 

“Good thinking on the bread.” He winks, her heart starts again, and the conversation flows like it had the other night at Pop’s, only punctuated by the arrival of Jughead’s ridiculous appetizer (and then his chewing and soft moans of appreciation, which destroy Betty on a molecular level). 

 

Betty talks about how her internship with the district attorney’s office in law school had led her to pursue prosecution as a career, how she’d enjoyed working with victims’ rights groups and liked always having the vanguard of “justice” on her side. 

 

“Unfortunately, I’m not so sure if I believe in that anymore,” she confesses, and Jughead reaches out and squeezes her hand, and Betty lets him. 

 

“Do you want to know why I became a public defender?” He pops another ravioli in his mouth. “My dad’s an ex-con. Did a couple of years in federal prison for some drug and gang-related stuff.” He swallows, and then takes a pull of his beer, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 

 

“Wow,” Betty says. “I didn’t know that.” 

 

“Yeah.” Jughead takes another drink of beer and covers his mouth to hide a little belch. “Did you know I’m from Riverdale?” 

 

Betty’s eyes widen. “I thought you went to law school in a different state.” 

 

“Yup. Couldn’t turn down the full ride. But I had to come back here when I saw an opening, you know? Help out guys like my dad, but not as a hired gun. I didn’t want to be some overpaid defense attorney making things go away for rich people. I wanted to help people on the South Side, people I grew up with-- with the kinds of problems that come with growing up where I did.” His gaze skewers her in its intensity, and Betty takes a long sip of her own drink. 

 

“I get it,” she says eventually, after all of that has sunk in. “And besides, now I definitely get why Judge Lodge never seems to want to talk to you.” 

 

Jughead laughs. “Yeah, there’s no love lost between the Joneses and the Lodges. But it’s all right. He knows that we’re all cogs on the wheel.” 

 

“So... where’s your dad now?” Betty can’t help her curiosity, and Jughead doesn’t seem to mind. 

 

“Went off to the coast a couple of years back. Finished his parole, got clean, then took his bike and his freedom. He showed up at my law school graduation, but otherwise I haven’t seen him. And that’s okay.” Jughead takes another long drink, considering. “It’s a lot easier being here when he’s not. You know?” 

 

“I do.” Betty doesn’t want to get into it now that their main dishes are arriving, but she left an overbearing, emotionally abusive mother and a whipped, milquetoast father back home and certainly understands the desire to sever family ties. 

 

Their food looks amazing, and Betty loses herself in the sheer enjoyment of it- the taste of her own food, and the pleasure of watching Jughead eat his with gusto, as if the appetizer had never happened. 

 

She must get a little too into watching him, though, because suddenly he’s looking at her with a sly smile playing around the corners of his mouth. 

 

“Look,” Jughead says slowly, making sure she’s watching him. “I know you’re into this.” He mops up sauce with yet another piece of bread--  _ buttered! _ Betty’s mind screams helpfully-- and chews thoughtfully. 

 

“... This?” Betty pretends like he hasn’t got every number on her lottery ticket. “I’m not sure what you mean.” She pushes a piece of pasta around her own plate, not looking up until Jughead’s hand catches her wrist. 

 

“Betty. It’s okay. I mean, I’m far from opposed to it. See?” He takes another big bite of his own pasta as if to show her. 

 

Betty pulls her hand away and into her lap, twisting her fingers together. “It’s not just… I mean…” She trails off, unsure. 

 

Jughead just lifts an eyebrow. “Betty Cooper. I didn’t make Order of the Coif by playing dumb, and neither did you. I know you like watching me eat, and I have to say it’s refreshing that someone finds my fat ass attractive. And what’s there to lose? Riverdale’s not the end for you or for me, and we can make of this what we will. So let loose and enjoy what you enjoy, okay? Okay.” He reaches over and forks a big bite of pasta off of Betty’s plate and gulps it down in punctuation. 

 

Betty takes a demure sip of her own drink, considering. 

 

“Okay, Jughead. So eat. Eat, and let me watch.” 

 

His eyes glitter, and he catches their waiter’s eye and beckons him over. 

 

“Game on.” 

 

*** 

 

By the time the next status hearing in the Grundy case comes around, they’re official. There’s a second toothbrush in the cup at Betty’s apartment, and a pair of Betty’s pajamas in the drawer at Jughead’s. 

 

They’ve both started staying late at the courthouse to work and not going hugely out of their way to hide the fact that they’re sharing Betty’s windowless office to do so. 

 

It’s been nice, to say the least. Nice to have someone to come home with, and to spend long work-filled evenings with, and to watch eat his weight in fast food and then touch his belly. That’s the best part of all, and Betty’s favorite thing about these late nights of case law research and motion writing. 

 

It didn’t take her long to learn that Jughead will eat whatever she puts in front of him, no matter how much, and will do so mindlessly, chewing as he reads through case files or wiping greasy fingers on paper napkins in between bursts of writing on his laptop. 

 

Betty has certainly used this knowledge to her advantage, and she’s been working her way down the list of places in Riverdale that do take-out. The other night, she’d reveled in watching Jughead put away a sack of sliders and a large order of fries from Pop’s, and in bed she’d laid her head on his tummy and listened to it groan and gurgle. 

 

It’s a Friday and everyone else was out of here at five on the dot, so tonight she’s in the mood to watch Jughead eat even more. Betty’s mouth goes a little dry at the prospect of ordering an extra large pizza or a mountain of Chinese food. She finishes highlighting a printout of an appellate case, nonchalantly re-capping her highlighter and casually asking if Jughead’s ready to eat. 

 

“Chinese?” she says hopefully, and Jughead laughs. 

 

“Pizza,” he says firmly, and pulls her in for a kiss when he sees her blush. 

 

“... Both?” 

 

*** 

 

“I can’t believe you ate all of that,” Betty says later, surveying the wasteland of empty takeout containers on top of the big wooden desk. 

 

“I can,” Jughead says, a little tightly, as he stifles a belch into his fist. “Excuse me.” He grins lazily. “You’re the one who encouraged me.” 

 

“It didn’t take a lot of effort,” Betty says pointedly, and Jughead just stretches, suspenders framing his belly perfectly. He just looks at her, glutted and sated and looking ready to pop, and Betty can’t take it anymore. 

 

“Attorney Jones,” Betty says. “I think your shirt is a conflict of interest to the case at hand.” 

 

“Oh?” Jughead quirks an eyebrow, and Betty tugs him a little closer for a brief kiss. 

 

“Yeah,” she laughs. “It’s conflicting with my interest in seeing you with your shirt off.” 

 

“Well,” Jughead says. “I think we might be able to remedy that. What say you, Attorney Cooper?” 

 

Betty doesn’t even respond-- she’s already working the buttons of Jughead’s dress shirt open and then running her hands along his skin once the shirt is off. 

 

“God,” Betty breathes, and Jughead looks panicked for a moment, and Betty wants to punish everyone who’s ever made him feel anything less than beautiful. 

 

“Is something wrong?” Jughead asks, and Betty can tell that this is a carefully measured response. 

 

“No, no, nothing like that. God, Jug, you’re just so gorgeous.” Betty leans in to kiss him again, along his neck and down towards his belly, her hands roving along his sides. She stands between his spread legs and lifts up a handful of chub. 

 

Jughead moans slightly at the pressure, and Betty smirks. 

 

“Too full to fool around, Jug?” 

 

“Nah.” He scoots forward a little in the chair so he can lean back further, which makes his thighs press right up against Betty’s. 

 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jughead says. “I’m plenty full. But there’s still room to… fool around.” He shifts slightly, looking uncomfortable. 

 

Betty eyes him critically- the cheeks flushed from overeating, the damp brow. “Sure.” She’s not one to argue, especially not in this situation. 

 

“-- But I think we might need to move location. This chair isn’t exactly doing me any favors.” 

 

*** 

 

Once she’s got Jughead installed on the little loveseat in the office (and Betty’s not even going to think about how old it is or what other sexual escapades it may have borne witness to), Betty deftly unzips her skirt and steps towards Jughead in just her panties and dress shirt, savoring the way Jughead follows her with his eyes. 

 

“Like what you see?” she asks, coming over and settling on his lap, knees on either side of his middle. 

 

Jughead groans, and it has nothing to do with fullness. He presses little kisses to her neck, teeth touching her skin briefly, and Betty shivers with desire. 

 

Jughead draws back. “Why do you like this, huh?” He takes Betty’s hand and places it on his stomach. “Do you like how firm it is-- how you can feel just how full I am?” He moves her hand over to his side and guides her to pinch some of the chub that’s accumulated there. “Or do you like this little spare tire here, how soft it is?” 

 

Betty’s ready to come untouched, but Jughead’s far from done with her. 

 

“Everything,” Betty whispers. “It’s all of that-- I--” she breaks off as Jughead pushes his gut into her and she electrifies like a girl whose mutant gene just activated. 

 

Jughead’s voice is like silk, or the smooth top of a piece of flan. “Or is it how chubby I’m getting? You’ve seen the way I eat, I can hardly help myself. Just like tonight, when I ate until my stomach hurt and then I ate some more.” 

 

Betty whimpers as her clit rubs up against Jughead’s belly, but he doesn’t pay her any attention, just keeps his hands on her hips, keeps rocking her against him, still talking. 

 

“You like it that I’m so greedy,” he continues softly, squeezing a handful of her ass. “You know what I think? I think you’d love to watch me eat until I couldn’t eat any more.” 

 

Betty nods frantically through a rushing sound like a wave coming in to the shore, her clit jamming up against Jughead’s pudge. 

 

“I’m close,” she pants, and Jughead stops rocking her against him, just looking at her with a bemused expression on his face. 

 

“That’s what you think,” he says softly, and she almost loses it. 

 

*** 

 

He makes her wait a painfully long time. Long after she takes off her panties and presses her wet heat up against his hardness. Long after he says he’s too full for sex, but not too full to get her off. 

 

He works her open with one finger, then two, crooking the index finger in a way that makes her gasp and clench. He does it over and over, bringing her to the edge and then stopping, blinking at her sleepily with a knowing smirk. 

 

“You ready?” he asks her finally, and all Betty can do is make small noises around biting her lip. 

 

“Okay,” Jughead says. “Just think about how next time I’m going to take you to a buffet and I’ll put on a real show for you.” 

 

Her orgasm lasts an agonizingly long time, and she comes out of her wordless place when Jughead’s belly jumps with a set of hiccups that make him sound stuffed. 

 

“You good?” she asks as she sits up, and he reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, hiccupping again. 

 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pulling her in to kiss the side of her mouth. “I’m great.” 

 

“Good,” Betty says. “Because I think there might be something special in your future.” Her hands move down to his erection, and she squeezes it gently, not breaking eye contact. 

 

“Nobody knows the future,” Jughead says, but then Betty kisses him, and touches him some more, and he doesn’t say anything in a full sentence for a long while. 

 

***

 

Jughead’s right about the future. Three days later, they both get the news that Geraldine Grundy has been shot and killed in her home, where she’d been staying after making bail. Grundy has no family to speak of, and although Betty’s boss wants the boys’ parents to go after the various high schools for not preventing Miss Grundy from preying on children, the lawsuit comes apart like smoke and so all the files go into a cardboard box that sits in the corner of Betty’s office. 

 

Jughead doesn’t have a case anymore, either- it’s hard to defend someone who’s dead. 

 

“Actually, it’s probably easier,” Jughead quips, lying on his back on the loveseat in Betty’s office, playing solo catch with a softball. “Dead people can’t talk.” 

 

Betty rolls her eyes, but it’s good-natured, and shuts her laptop with a definitive click a few minutes later. She stands up, smoothing down her skirt, and takes the few steps over to the loveseat. 

 

“Your shirt’s too small,” she notes as Jughead sits up, and he affects a mock-surprised face. 

 

“You don’t say.” 

 

“You knew it,” Betty says, tugging on his wrist to get him to stand up, then plucking at his shirt where the buttons are straining a little bit. 

 

“I knew you’d want to see it,” Jughead responds promptly. “Especially given where we’re going.” 

 

“Oh yeah? And where’s that?” 

 

Jughead tries to maintain a serious expression but isn’t able to. 

 

“Well… there’s an all-you-can-eat Chinese place a few towns over…” 

 

Betty hugs him so tight that she almost causes the first button casualty. 

 

Later, they have to leave the restaurant after Jughead’s popped the middle two buttons off of his shirt, and Betty is so turned on she can hardly speak. He has to lie down in the backseat on the way home, and when they get home, she discovers that he’s popped the button off of his jeans, too. 

 

*** 

 

The next time fate throws them into the courtroom ring together, Jughead’s up a pants size and Betty’s been cajoling him to get some new dress shirts, too. She ribs him about it in her office after the first day of the trial. 

 

“They’re obscene.” 

 

“Maybe for you, you kinkster.” Jughead presses a kiss to the top of her head, and Betty rolls her eyes.

 

“Not just me. You can see  _ skin _ , Jug.” 

 

He stretches his arms over his head and Betty could swear she can hear the buttons creak. 

 

“Maybe the bailiff is into it. Or that minxy little court reporter.” 

 

Betty raises an eyebrow, nonplussed. “You know those two are dating, right?” 

 

“Pink hair and red hair are  _ dating _ ?!” 

 

“They have  _ names _ , Jughead. Yes, Toni and Cheryl are dating. God, this is why everyone hates defense attorneys.” 

 

Jughead plops down next to her on the loveseat, scooting close to her so that their hips are touching. Betty drops her head onto his shoulder. 

 

“You know,” Jughead says, trailing off. 

 

“What?” 

 

“If we leave now, we could make a movie. I bet you I can eat a large popcorn before the previews are over.” 

 

Betty surveys him. “I’ll take that bet.” 

 

*****


End file.
